


Take What I Have To Give

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Tumblr Fic, Voicemail, box of puppies, discovering feelings, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[<em> You have reached the voice mail box of </em>Derek Hale<em> – </em>]</p><p>“Uh, sorry about the other day. I forgot to take my meds and I got all pissed. I guess it’s partially justified, because seriously? It’s been months. I just want to know that you’re good. Like, maybe you’ve settled or whatever. You know I – I want you to be happy, right? That’s an interest of mine, but, uh, what you’re doing is an interest of mine, too. I meant it before. I didn’t save your ass multiple times for you to just disappear. Scott says that you’re not coming back and I – I didn’t realize how much I miss you. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. Derek, I really –”</p><p>[ <em>The mailbox is full and can not accept any messages at this time. Goodbye.</em> ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take What I Have To Give

**Author's Note:**

> Er, this was a angsty post that needed a happy sequel. Idea for the sequel thoughtfully provided by Carrie! Can't go wrong with a box of puppies, tbh. For Gri Clover, to make up for the angst in The Chasms Between, and Raleigh. Shout out to Emmi for being my real estate agent and hopefully not grossly OOC.

[ _You have reached the voice mail box of_ Derek Hale _. To leave a voice message press one or just wait for the tone. To send a numeric page press two now. At the tone, please record your voice message when you have finished recording, you may hang up or press pound for more options_. ]

“Hey, dude, three weeks, crazy vaca – Do you have any information a creature called a slaugh? S-L-A-U-G-H? Restless dead, dreams and hallucinations like the – Well you know. Not into it. Anyway, call me back? Uh, hope you’re doin’ good. Finding yourself or whatever it is this time.”

[ _You have reached the voice mail box of_ Derek Hale _. To leave a voice message press one or just wait for the tone. To send a numeric page press two now. At the tone, please record your voice message when you have finished –_ ] 

“Slaugh defeated, some help you are. How long are you staying gone for, dude? I want to check out the vault. Do you think your parents have a bestiary on, like, floppy disks? There has to be some crazy shit down there right? Seriously, Malia can open it, I just need you to say the word. The word being ‘yes’, by the way, in case that wasn’t clear.”

[ _You have reached the voice mail box of_ Derek Hale _. To leave a voice message press one or just wait for the tone. To send a numeric page press two now. At the tone –_ ] 

“I did it anyway. Seriously, are you just letting these build up? It’s kind of shitty to just not answer. You’d think that – I mean, come on, our lives were pretty solidly intertwined. You could say hey? Check in? Let me know how it’s going, whatever.”

[ _You have reached the voice mail box of_ Derek Hale _. To leave a voice message press one or just wait for the tone –_ ] 

“You know, it’s kind of fucked up that you’re just gone and I don’t get a text. You know, Scott and I – We actually got in a fight over your dumb ass. He thinks I’m overreacting. I told him you could be dead and he said you could handle yourself. Which, you might be able to, but I don’t fucking know, considering how many times I’ve saved your ass. You’d think that everything that we’ve been through – Everything, Derek, you’d at least call. Say fucking hey. What, you have a girlfriend and we don’t matter any m –”

[ _You have reached the voice mail box of_ Derek Hale _. To leave a voice message press one or just wait for the tone –_ ] 

“Your piece of shit machine cut me off, but I just wanted to say that I’m pissed. I’m pissed at you for leaving and not coming back, but I’m pissed at you for cutting me off. I mean, what the fuck, Derek. Don’t be a dick, dude, I’m serious.”

[ _You have reached the voice mail box of_ Derek Hale _–_ ] 

“Uh, sorry about the other day. I forgot to take my meds and I got all pissed. I guess it’s partially justified, because seriously? It’s been months. I just want to know that you’re good. Like, maybe you’ve settled or whatever. You know I – I want you to be happy, right? That’s an interest of mine, but, uh, what you’re doing is an interest of mine, too. I meant it before. I didn’t save your ass multiple times for you to just disappear. Scott says that you’re not coming back and I – I didn’t realize how much I miss you. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. Derek, I really –”

[ _The mailbox is full and can not accept any messages at this time. Goodbye._ ]

“Fuck.”

[ _We’re sorry. The phone number you have reached has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again._ ]

 

 

 

It’s been three months since Derek’s phone was disconnected and the first thing Stiles says when he sees him is:

“You cock sucker. If you weren’t holding a box of puppies right now, I would punch you in the face.”

He’s _angry_ , okay? It’s been months since the last voice mail, almost a year since the first. He was half-convinced that Derek was dead and half-convinced that he regressed into the neanderthal that first rolled into Beacon Hills looking for Laura. It's been a rolodex of emotions that he’s been going through since he stopped being able to call Derek’s phone. They swing from “I hope I never see that dickhole again, I’m glad he’s gone” to “why would he just leave? Why does he hate me?”. That last one is not a thought he likes to examine too closely. 

Now, _this_ : Standing in the middle of Deaton’s lobby, eyebrows raised in surprise, biceps bulging as he hefts a box o’ puppies. A bunch o’ puppies. All whimpering and popping their heads up over the side. One’s trying to climb Derek’s chest, head aimed towards his chin. For some reason, he’s clean shaven, hair shorter than Stiles has ever seen it. The whole picture is grossly attractive, Stiles is _pissed_. 

“What the hell is wrong with your phone?” Stiles demands, not caring that his voice is too loud. There aren’t any clients in the lobby, he can yell if he wants. He doesn’t even need to hear the footfalls to know Scott comes in the room behind him, all the puppies stop making noise immediately and crowd to the front of the box to look at him. Stiles watches Derek’s hand clench the box, arms flexing, as their weight moves to the front. Grimacing, he slides the box on the counter and two puppies attempt to escape, feeling the stable ground. 

Stiles scoops them up and holds them to his chest as he glares at Derek. They smell fresh and warm. Stiles has to physically stop himself from burying his face in their little furry bellies. He’s mad. Man hath no indignity when cuddling puppies. 

“I lost it,” Derek says, offering no other explanation.

“Hikers stole it when he was at the Grand Canyon,” Cora says, coming through the front. Stiles almost drops the puppies in surprise. What?

“The Grand Canyon?” Scott asks, smiling at her. There’s no precedent for this. How do you greet a girl who ditched your pack because you were too messed up to hang around with? That’s not hug territory. That might not even warrant a salutation.

“Running,” Derek says, with a shrug. To Stiles, it seems like getting away from everyone and communing with nature. Getting in touch with his wolf-side, getting down with his bad-moon self. He tries not to let that hurt. 

“So, your phone got jacked and you didn’t get a new one and give us a call?” Stiles asks, stiffly. Derek frowns at him, eyes doing that thing where they track Stiles’ expression. Stiles doesn’t know what his face is doing, but apparently Derek doesn’t either, he still looks confused. 

“I don’t know any of your numbers,” he says. Anger and anxiety tighten into a ball in Stiles’ stomach and he realizes that he doesn’t have to energy to have this conversation. He sets the puppies back in the box and pulls it off the counter.

“I’m going to do the basic physicals,” Stiles says, even though he’s technically not qualified. The only thing he’s qualified to do is book appointments and sort files, but summer’s been slow, so Scott’s been showing him the basics. 

No one says anything as he takes the puppies back. As soon as he takes them out of Scott’s range, they start up with the whining and barking. It’s not even barking yet, they’re _chirping_. 

When he gets into an exam room, he shuts the door behind him and sits on the floor, taking the puppies out. There’s 5, super young. Still round and fat and probably should still be attached to their mom. He puts them on the floor so they can wiggle around him, crawling over each other and him. 

The one closest to him gets the physical first. Palpations to its muscles, joints tested, mouth checked. Pads of paws and ears and the wetness of its nose. Each puppy gets the same treatment. They’re all in decent shape: Fat, happy, flopping around the room now, exploring corners.

When the door opens, it’s not Scott or Cora, but Derek himself. Stiles wishes he could say he’s surprised, but he’s not. 

“Hey,” Derek says. 

“Hey.”

“Scott said you called.” 

What a traitor.

“Sure,” Stiles says, trying to sidestep the question. A stolen phone, of course. Nothing harrowing, no death or abandonment (more than had already happened). Now, every negative emotion he had seems like an overreaction. He hates that.

“A lot?” 

“Why are you here, Derek?” Stiles asks, because he doesn’t want to have that conversation. He felt a desperation when he couldn’t reach Derek that he didn’t expect at all. The uncertainty was awful. He doesn’t know _why_ it mattered so much. 

“To drop off the puppies,” Derek says, expression flat, but Stiles can see the amusement around his mouth. Of course, it’s not like he anticipated Stiles being here. Derek doesn’t know that Stiles’ summer job is doing front desk work for Deaton. He’s been gone. 

“Where did they come from?” Stiles asks, distracting himself from the hurt that he feels. He runs his fingers over the ears of the closest one. It leans into his touch, nuzzling his fingers. All the bad feelings evaporate in an instant. Puppies are awesome. 

“I found them abandoned in an underpass on the way here,” Derek says. That surprises Stiles. For some reason, he didn’t connect the fact that Derek probably didn’t come up all the way from South America to bring a box of puppies to the vet. He was already coming, he ran into the puppies on the way. 

“Well, you did good,” Stiles says, giving him a smile. It’s a little forced, but Derek doesn’t blink. Instead, he returns the smile tentatively. There’s no explanation for how it steals the breath from Stiles’ chest. Oh god. 

Stiles’ heart _thuds_. 

“I’m thinking about getting a house,” Derek says. There are two puppies at his feet. One’s stretched on its side over his boot, little mouth hanging open happily. The other nuzzles Derek’s pants leg until he picks it up and brings it to his face to rub his chin on it’s tiny body. 

_Bah-bum_.

“You’re staying?” Stiles asks, voice cracking. There’s too much going on. Missing Derek, seeing Derek, _puppies_. 

“If that’s alright,” Derek says, smiling because he knows he doesn’t need permission. Stiles scowls at him. 

“I’m still mad at you, on principle,” he says, unable to continue looking at Derek’s face. He watches the puppy squirm around on his stomach, getting comfortable. There’s a high probability he’s about to get napped on. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, voice lowering. He drops down, squatting next to Stiles, a puppy on each shoe. When Stiles looks up, Derek deliberately meets his eyes. 

_Dah-dum_.

“I’m serious.”

It’s too much. Stiles’ mouth is dry, his palms are damp. Even his circadian rhythm is incredulous. Derek can probably hear his heart trying to leap out of his chest. 

“That’s really great, Derek,” Stiles says, dismissively. He picks up the puppy and pushes it into Derek’s hands. Their fingers touch. 

_Bah-bum_. 

“I’m going to go,” Stiles says, unnecessarily. He’s already up and moving towards the door, desperate to get away. 

“Okay,” Derek says.

 

 

 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, looking out his window, down to the street below. There Derek is, leaning against his sensible car, on the phone with Stiles. Derek shoots him a sarcastic smile, eyes hidden under aviators. It reminds Stiles of when he first bit Erica, that smug smile Derek gave Stiles when she climbed into his car. Another beta turned, another battle won. 

“We’re going house hunting,” Derek says. Stiles scoffs down the line at him, trying to hide how confused he is. It feels like he’s three steps behind this version of Derek. A Derek who goes off on a journey of self-discovery and doesn’t return phone calls, then shows up out of nowhere and wants to buy a house. 

“Take Cora,” Stiles tells him. Take Scott, take Malia, Lydia, Liam, anyone. Don’t go there. Where’s there? There is getting close to Stiles when Stiles still has mixed feelings about Derek being back in the first place. Stiles is still trying to figure out how he feels about Derek in general, it’s all very confusing.

“She’s visiting with friends,” Derek says, easily. Easy enough that Stiles doesn’t know whether or not it’s a lie. All he knows is that now it’s harder to make an excuse. Stiles tells him, resigned, that he’ll be right down and hangs up, pausing to watch the smile on Derek’s face as he looks at his phone. It’s fond. Stiles doesn’t get it. 

When Stiles gets downstairs, Derek is in the front seat, but he’s twisted, body half in the backseat. Stiles goes around to the passenger side and pulls the door open, cautiously peeking inside. 

There’s a puppy. On the seat.

“You kept it?” Stiles asks. The puppy is enthusiastically licking Derek’s chin, now with the customary stubble grown back to a decent length. It’s only been three days, but it still feels vastly different from when they were standing in the clinic. This Derek is more relatable. Beard, hidden eyes, things that Stiles is used to. 

The puppy? Not so much. 

“I liked her,” Derek says, with a shrug, turning to the front. The puppy leans back in tandem, tail thumping on the seat enthusiastically. Her fur is a shiny black, eyes true blue like Derek’s wolf eyes. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, voice dropping in awe as he has an epiphany. “When she gets bigger, are you going to run around the Preserve with her?” The thought warms his chest, imagining them _romping_ together. Okay, so he’s not mad anymore, definitely not.

“Maybe,” Derek says, with a shrug, pulling away from the curb. 

“Should she be buckled up?” Stiles asks, after pulling his seatbelt on. Since he can’t see his eyes, Stiles just sees Derek’s eyebrows go up behind his glasses, like _really_? “Car accidents happen to good people, Derek.”

At the next red light, Derek shoves himself through the middle of the seats, manipulating the tiny puppy until she’s sitting with the seatbelt over her paws and chest. Derek’s whole body is pressed along Stiles’ side, ass in the air. Stiles swallows around a suddenly dry throat, feeling a shock of arousal move through his veins. It’s hot and pulsing. 

_Dah-dum._

His heart stalls before going out of control, face hot as Derek slides back into the front seat. Derek doesn’t say anything, but Stiles can see that his nostrils are flared. At one point last year, Scott and Stiles had a conversation about what werewolves could and couldn’t smell. Arousal was definitely one of them. The most obvious, according to Scott, because it smells the best.

Inanely, Stiles wonders if Derek thinks he smells good and then _aggressively_ tries to forget that thought. It’s not that this is the first time he’s wondered about him and Derek. They were an abstract thought in his head before. Even before Malia, he wondered what it would be like to be with Derek. Especially removed from the supernatural bullshit, but even with it all. 

They always seemed to be circling each other, but Stiles couldn’t tell if that was tentative steps towards friendship or something _more_. Derek only ever showed interest in women, so Stiles figured it was only one sided.

He even went so far as to bring liking Derek up to Scott, as a hypothetical. Scott laughed at him for ten minutes straight before letting him know that he was never _subtle_. That “just friends” didn’t drift apart when the other person got a girlfriend. Stiles never realized that they were subconsciously avoiding each other. Or, rather, Stiles was subconsciously avoiding Derek. 

Either way, feelings, they were happening. At least on Stiles’ end. That’s why he was so angry when Derek left, when Derek ignored him, when Derek didn’t try to get in touch. It hurt, he _cared_. He’s still trying to come to terms with that and what it means. It’s going to change how he wants to interact with Derek, he knows, but he’s not sure how yet.

They stare straight ahead for a long time, tension mounting the space between them until Stiles blurts out, 

“I’m _sorry_ ,” exasperated, like he’s not assaulting Derek’s senses just by existing. When Derek doesn’t respond, he continues to run his mouth. “I realized some things, while you were -- I mean, in the past year, not because of -- Well, maybe, I’m not sure --”

“Stiles,” Derek says, voice lower than Stiles expected. He doesn’t know if it’s hesitation or amusement or what, but hearing his name makes his mouth shut so hard his teeth clatter together. He’s burning with humiliation, he can’t make himself look at Derek. “It’s okay.”

Stiles slumps, leaning against the door, eyes on his own knees. 

“It’s not, it’s weird,” Stiles says. “It’s you.”

“Is there something wrong with me?” Derek asks, sounding amused. Stiles chances a look at Derek’s face. The sunglasses make it difficult, but there’s no look of revulsion. He’s the one who’s pursuing the conversation. 

“Not memorizing numbers,” Stiles says, derailing the conversation. It’s almost an inside joke at this point. Even though Derek doesn’t know what he said in the voicemails or how desperate he sounded. He’s almost relieved, in a way. If Derek had heard them and decided to ignore him? That would be intolerable. 

“You’re never going to let me live that down are you?” Derek asks. There’s that tone again: fond. Maybe Stiles is reading the situation wrong, but it feels significant. 

“Probably not,” Stiles says, unable to keep the smile off his face. He probably looks like a goof, eyes soft and tender. He can never keep his emotions off of his face, this probably isn’t the exception. 

“Sorry,” Derek says again, unnecessarily.

“I know,” Stiles says, trying to wave him off. “Stop apologizing.” Derek nods at him and they drive in silence until they pull up to a house. There’s already an SUV waiting, a woman in a suit on her phone, fingers moving rapidly over the surface. Derek gets out and grabs the puppy out while Stiles spills gracelessly from the Camaro. 

“I didn’t know you were bringing your puppy, Derek!” the woman says, smile stretched on her face. She looks late twenties, blonde and enthusiastic. “The dog too.” Then, she winks. 

Derek’s eyebrows pop up, climbing his forehead, as Stiles chokes on a laugh, desperately trying to think of a retort. His mind is painfully blank as she giggles at her own joke, cooing at the puppy that Derek has in his hands. 

“I’m kidding, of course,” she says, drawing back and smiling at Stiles with a hint of humor. “I’m Emmi! I’m Derek’s real estate agent. We went to high school together. I’ve been helping him find a place so he doesn’t have to keep staying in that hotel.”

“Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles says, shaking her hand, looking at Derek out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know Derek was staying in at a hotel. Now that Stiles thinks about it, there probably isn’t anywhere else for Derek to stay. 

“Oh, the Sheriff’s son,” Emmi says, eyeing him. “That’s rowdy.”

“Emmi,” Derek says. It sounds like a warning. Stiles is still completely bemused, trying to figure out where she’s getting all this innuendo from. All he did was show up to this shindig. Emmi smiles again and gestures towards the house.

“Okay, this is the only listing I have to show you today,” she says, apologetically, tone going completely professional. “Don’t set your puppy down inside, we don’t need pee on the carpets. Two story, three bedroom, two-and-a-half bath. HOA, trash pick up, the works. There’s a yard with a hot tub already installed.” 

Her heels clack against the hardwood floor as she leads them from room to room. The puppy’s fallen asleep in Derek’s arms and it’s quite a sight: Derek looking around with intent, a tiny black dog asleep on his chest. It makes Stiles ache in a good way. A want-to-touch way. Derek must sense it, he meets Stiles’ eyes more than once, expression curious. Every time, Stiles shrugs and looks away. 

“What do you think?” Derek asks, when they’ve made a circuit of the house. They’re in the backyard. It’s a good size with bushes and trees and grass. The hot tub is to the right, near the side of the house. The puppy wakes up long enough to sniff around the grass, pee, then roll on her back to get some sun, little paws kicking in the air. 

“It’s nice,” Stiles says, eyes on the puppy, on the grass and the yard. The significance of Derek buying a permanent place. The feeling is disconnected, more so than he expected. If he decides that his feelings are too significant and he decides to distance himself from Derek, then he doesn’t get to be a part of this. The house viewing, the _puppy_. It won’t matter because it will go away. 

If he decides to stick around no matter what. No matter his feelings and his intentions, then he’ll get it. Even if it’s a glimpse, it might be worth it. He tries not to think of Lydia in these situations. On the outside, desperately trying to look in. With Derek, he would have a way in. He’s always had a way in. 

“I like the yard,” Stiles says. It’s been a long time since he talked. He isn’t looking at Derek, but he can feel his gaze. Intent, curious again. Stiles wonders how obvious he’s being, if Derek can just sense that things have changed for Stiles when it comes to them.

Stiles can feel it. Being around Derek makes him feel like he doesn’t fit anymore. Like the space around him is too small, even outside. It makes him tense and edgy, but not anxious, just excited, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for Derek to acknowledge it, maybe. Stiles is notorious for never making a move. 

“Me too,” Derek says. “But hardwood floors? Those will be a bitch in winter.”

“Uhm, socks?” Stiles asks, scooping the puppy up. She blinks her big blue eyes at him and yawns, tongue curling. He smiles at her like a dope, totally charmed. 

“I don’t sleep in socks,” Derek says. It sounds so grumpy and serious, as if it’s a firm rule. 

“I can’t believe you’re anti-sock.”

“They suffocate my feet,” Derek says, eyebrows arching. Stiles can’t even commenting on that, it’s too cute. He’s going to end up saying something that exposes him for what he is: A feelings-having person who is largely concerned about the feelings he’s having. 

“Maybe you can buy a lot of area rugs,” Stiles suggests. 

“They’re a bitch to vacuum. There’s going to be dog hair all over them.”

“You are never satisfied, dude,” Stiles says, bumping their shoulders together. Derek’s chin dips down, almost bashful. He looks at Stiles through his lashes and Stiles loses any train of thought he might have had. That smile is distracting. 

Emmi interrupts them then and starts talking about kitchen appliances while Derek nods along, shooting Stiles glances every so often. Stiles doesn’t know what that means, but it’s something. 

 

 

 

“So, I figured some things out while I was gone,” Derek says. Stiles watches his hands on his burger, watches him take a bite. It’s been too hard to make eye contact with Derek today. Something he’s never, ever had a problem with before. It feels like if he looks Derek directly in his eyes, he’ll be able to see all of the things Stiles is guarding. 

“Oh yeah?” Stiles asks, shoving fries into his mouth. “It was the Grand Canyon trip, wasn’t it? Communing with the Colorado River will do that to you. Did you live off jackrabbits while you were down there?”

“Some, but I’m a big boy,” Derek says, with a sarcastic smile. “I like big horn sheep and elk.”

“That’s disgusting,” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose. It’s all too easy to imagine Derek taking down a ram, teeth and claws digging into its flesh. Oh god. “That is the worst mental image, why would you do that to me?”

“You’re the one who assumed I ate rabbits,” Derek says, smile smug. Stiles scowls at him. A big boy, indeed. They stare at each other for a little longer. It feels like Derek is going to say something significant. They’re on the edge of a change, Stiles can feel it. It’s been in the air since Derek walked into the clinic with a box of puppies. Speaking of --

Stiles slips the puppy a french a fry. She’s been sleeping on Derek’s shoe, but she perks up and waddles to Stiles to take the fry, gnawing at it with her tiny teeth. They haven’t found a name for her yet. Stiles suggested at least 50 names in the car, ranging from ‘Buffy’ to ‘Snickerdoodle’, all of which Derek turned down almost immediately. Stiles even suggested ‘Laura’. It took Derek a full five minutes to reject it, but he did. Puppy might just be ‘ _Puppy_ ’ at this point. It’s unoriginal, but Derek seems like the kind of person to name his favorite stuffed animal ‘Bear’. Stiles doesn’t think it’s a stretch to assume that.

Stiles refuses to speak until Derek elaborates on his opening statement. If his thoughtful gazing and lip biting is any indication, he hasn’t forgotten what he was going to say, he’s thinking about how to word it. Derek waits until Stiles has a mouth full of french fries before he talks.

“I like you,” Derek says. It’s a miracle that Stiles doesn’t choke. He sputters and flails and chews his food rapidly so that he can swallow, but he absolutely does not choke.

“Who wouldn’t,” Stiles says, weakly. His throat is burning. The tight excited feeling in his stomach is back, the one he had at the house, thinking about Derek’s domestic future. Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles and leans back in his seat. Subconsciously putting distance between them. 

It feels like a physical acknowledgement of the situation, like Derek thinks he could be _hurt_ by Stiles’ reaction. Metaphorically, of course, so he’s putting physical distance between them in an attempt to seem less invested. If he’s leaning forward and Stiles says something that’s hurtful, he’ll have to move back. If he’s already out of Stiles’ personal space, then he’s more detached and it will be less of a blow.

Or something like that. 

“I’m interested in you,” Derek clarifies, tone completely at odds with his body language. Derek is sprawled out, legs open, arm over the back of the chair next to him. He _looks_ relaxed, for all intents and purposes, but his words are tight and measured. Stiles wishes Derek had his sunglasses on. He’s having a hard time breaking eye contact now.

If he’s being truthful, he’s waiting for the punchline. 

It doesn’t come.

“You’re not gay,” Stiles says, wishing it sounded like a question. It doesn’t, it sounds like an accusation. 

“Neither are you,” Derek says, eyebrows popping up. He’s amused and fond again. The puppy shuffles towards Stiles, paws on his leg, licking the salt off his fingers. Lacking anything else to do with his hands, he scoops her up and holds her close, hoping she’ll anchor him. 

“How do you know I’m interested back?” Stiles asks, still accusatory. Derek doesn’t say anything, just stares at Stiles. That’s fair, Stiles thinks. He’s not subtle, he’s obvious with everything that he does. His facial expressions, his body language. He projects his emotions into the space around him. 

“I don’t need to be gay to be interested in you,” Derek says, leaning forward to close the up the space between them. “It’s something more. Whatever is between us, it’s always been something more.”

That Stiles understands. That’s how he feels. It’s like they’ve been slowly drawing closer over the years. Pulled towards each other with magnetism that’s born from undeniable chemistry. Stiles nods dumbly, grip tightening on the puppy, pressing her closer. 

“What do you say?” Derek asks, a gentle prod for a response. 

“I -- Yeah, I mean, me too. I just --” He doesn’t know what to do now that it’s out in the open. Should he leap up and kiss Derek? Should he wait? He feels stuck, unsure. What if they fuck it up? What if they’re completely off base? 

Derek smiles, as if he senses Stiles’ turmoil and offers him his palm, face up. 

“We’ll take it slow,” Derek says. “That’s what it’s been about, right? We had to learn to trust each other. When I first met you, I basically hated your guts.” Stiles laughs at that and nods, tension shaking loose. It was the same, for him. “But, you know I would die for this pack. You know I would do anything for you.” 

Derek wiggles his fingers at Stiles, enticing. Stiles swallows down any protest and grabs his hand, revelling the warmth of his palm. Cautiously, Stiles traces the thick lines of Derek’s fingers. Lightly, he moves over his palm and wrist, partially up his arm before settling back down, _holding_ Derek’s hand. 

“We can figure this out together,” Derek continues, eyes glued to where their hands are linked. Stiles likes this view, looking down on Derek. The way his eyelashes lay against his cheeks, the sharpness of his nose, the small smile that plays around his lips. “It’s what we’ve _been_ doing, right?” 

Stiles knows he needs to answer now, needs to make a decision. He cradles the puppy to his chest and grips Derek’s hand at the same time, anchor himself. 

“We do make a great team,” he says, drily. It’s as much as he can admit to right now, but all the feelings are surging through him. It feels exactly right when Derek laughs out loud, fond and exasperated, a summation of their relationship. Stiles beams back at him, unable to restrain himself. Inside his chest, his heart tumbles around. He feels anxious, but it’s not a bad feeling. It’s distinctly good, full of possibilities. 

The first time they kiss is after they throw away their trash, standing on the sidewalk. Stiles still has the puppy in his arms. They just stand there, staring at each other, stalling themselves. Stiles is shaking from nerves, he can feel his free hand trembling. It’s so much more than it ever was with anyone else. It feels overwhelming and significant. 

Derek seems to know. He smiles at Stiles, quick and fleeting, before he grabs Stiles’ arm and pulls him in. They breathe in each other’s space for a few seconds before Stiles leans forward. Then, they’re surging together, lips and tongue. Derek’s hand tightens and pulls Stiles closer so that the puppy is squished between them. She pops up indignantly and starts licking both of their chins, desperate for space. When they separate, they’re both laughing. Derek covers the puppies head with his hand and kisses Stiles on the lips one more time before he’s walking towards his car. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, catching up with a huff. “If you’re my boyfriend, does this mean I get to use your hot tub whenever I want?” Derek laughs out loud, throwing his head back in amusement like Stiles startled him. 

“Maybe, if you’re good,” he says, and unlocks the door for them.

“I’m always good,” Stiles says, buckling the puppy up. 

“You’re a liar, Stiles,” Derek says, watching Stiles with an open affection that Stiles hasn’t ever seen. It makes Stiles stop what he’s doing and meet his eyes, smiling slowly. 

“I am not,” he argues, unable to help it. “But if I was, I’d be _your_ liar.”

“That you are,” Derek says, ducking his head again. Stiles loves the way he softens, loves the way he meets Stiles’ eyes again. The way he rolls them as if he’s annoyed, when in reality he can’t get enough of Stiles. “You really are mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> *smooch*


End file.
